A Farewell to Remember

4 generations of O-Team

Today was my official farewell party at Trinity...a midweek sendoff in anticipation of my final day on Friday. It was a truly special occasion marked by a few unique moments to make it memorable.

Dean Tuttle kicked things off by sharing some of the comments he made during my reference check. Simply put, he told my new boss that I was man with all the qualities of a good woman. I still can't tell if I should be offended...and if so, for myself or for the entire female population. All I can say is my interview must have been amazing to overcome such "thoughtful" remarks.

Then, the Campus & Community Involvement staff that I had supervised at one time or another usurped my brilliant (and also stolen) habit of writing a memo to a departing staff member's new boss...except they chose to direct their comments to my new staff. While their prose seemed to highlight my multitude of supervisory quirks, deep down (I mean, way deep down) I could tell their words hid a deep sense of loss and personal misery as they imagine life without me. No really.

After that came the sincere remarks, you know the stuff I paid people to say. A couple of weeks ago, I asked Kara Shervanick to weep openly at the reception, and she, being so method, has been tearing up ever since. In all seriousness, some of the kindest, most moving things were said across the next few minutes, and I am humbled and honored that they were directed my way. I will treasure those words forever.

And to close things out, the Trinitones and AcaBellas graced everyone present with a few songs. It's no secret that I am a big fan of both these groups, and it was a lot of fun to hear them sing one last time. The AcaBellas performed an especially moving rendition of Rascal Flatts' "My Wish." The Trinitones sang songs that each referenced...hmmm, how shall I put this...engaging in intimate relations with the opposite sex. I'm just...gonna leave that alone.

Of course, I was offered the chance to say a few words, and y'all know, I've never turned that opportunity down. Unfortunately, I can't remember half of what I said, but I am sure I spoke about the specialness of this place, my friendships with the faculty and staff, and the incredible privilege it is to work with our students.

No matter what I said, I am sure my words failed to convey the level of gratitude I feel towards all who have crossed my path during my time at Trinity. I am fortunate to have this great new opportunity at Birmingham-Southern, but I am fully aware of the blessing these past six years have been. I am the professional and person I am today because of the positive impact Trinity and its community has had on my life.

I am a lucky man, my friends.

Dearly Departed Coal

Yesterday evening, our 11 year old, little black pug, Coal, passed away.

Years of severe allergies had left much of his body hairless and most of his skin painfully inflamed despite regular injections, daily medications, and a number of rotating topical treatments that never seemed to provide any relief. After spending a decade on and off various antibiotics, he had become resistant to all of them. In the end, all we could do was try our best to keep his most recent skin infections at bay.

Pretty soon, we could tell we were fighting a losing battle; Coal was soon a shadow of his former self. The little dog who never seemed to let his infirmities get him down, no matter how bad he felt or how much he itched, was truly for the first time showing the effects of years of suffering.

Since his first birthday, Coal has been a certifiable mess. The first sign of trouble was an allergic reaction to a vaccination, and it's been downhill ever since. He has been on every treatment regimen Banfield could think of--each one providing a glimmer of hope before failing miserably. About three years ago, Coal even started visiting his own doggy dermatologist, but again, hope was soon met with disappointment. Our little guy even had to eat synthetic, hypoallergenic dog food as he was unable to tolerate Fish & Potato, Lamb & Rice, and Kangaroo & Oat (yep, you read that last one right).

To say Coal had a tough life would be an understatement, but you know what, he never seemed to let it bother him. That is what made him such an amazing dog...a wonder-pug as I've said on occasion.

For a dog that was in a constant state of pain and discomfort, he never let it show--never whined, never acted out, never let it slow him down. In spite of the constant appointments and mounting expense, I regularly told our vet how fortunate we were to have such a sweet-tempered pet because any other dog (or person for that matter) with half of Coal's ailments would have been miserable to live with. But Coal was special, and that is why it's been so hard for me to say goodbye.

We adopted Coal for our elder pug Charley, and Coal was instantly devoted to his brother. They would sleep intertwined, forming a yin and yang of fawn and black pug. For 11 years Coal rarely left Charley's side, which made his sudden and consistent absence from Charley all the more concerning. We could tell his health was deteriorating, and he soon began to ignore our instructions, skip meals (unheard of with pugs), and refuse to take his medications.

Sara and I both knew this day would come, and I thought I'd made my peace with it. But by the way I've been blubbering the past 24 hours, I clearly was not as prepared as I thought I was. Coal found his way much deeper into my heart than I realized.

I've both read and seen the movie adaptation of Marley & Me, and to be honest, I wasn't moved by the events of the closing chapters...and this is coming from a self-described softy. Marley, in my opinion, was a colossally bad dog, and while I didn't wish bad things on him, I never found him particularly endearing.

But now I get it. Coal, while not a bad dog, was his own form of colossal mess...but he was my colossal mess, and nothing could every change that. I will miss him dearly, and while I'm glad he's no longer suffering, that fact provides little solace. He may have been tough to pet and truly stinky, but he was the sweetest, most adorable little guy...my little Coaley-Roll.

Farewell, my friend. I hope your beauty within now has matching exterior. I look forward to petting your allergen-free, full coat one day.

Sorry for a downer of Saturday night/Sunday morning reading. Happier tales to come.

Thanks for letting me share.

Driving Through Dallas

It's hard to believe that almost a year has passed since my father died. As I start this post, I notice it's 5 a.m., Wednesday morning--I'm battling a bit of isomnia caused by the excessive rest of a recent illness--and I realize that on this very day last year...actually this very moment, I would be pulling into the hospital parking lot, having made the trek from San Antonio to Katy, TX after receiving a call from my sister that Dad had been transported by ambulance about 1 a.m. Truly, nothing good ever happens after midnight.

When I started this blog, I thought I would write more about my dad...as a means of healing and reflection, but I haven't found that to be the case. I have written a few Dad-centric posts but nothing consistently. Don't get me wrong, the act of writing about...well, everything...has been a cathartic process that has led to much reflection, clarity, and in some ways, healing. It's just my topic choices have been a bit...chaotic. But that's pretty representative of my life right now so I guess that suits me just fine.

Regardless of my disjointed focus, I did intend that in the week leading up to the anniversary of Dad's passing that I'd develop daily posts in his honor. But the universe had different plans in mind by afflicting me with the aforementioned illness--a revenge visit from a case of bronchitis that was only mocked and clearly irritated by the last round of antibiotics. So rest, not blogging, was in my future...until today.

I can't say anything profound will come out of me over the next few days. I prefer to reflect on happy times with my dad or reframe familial absurdities that I think the world just has to know. Come on, you know your life is more fulfilled now that you've read about the time my wife almost (not really), very nearly (not even close) stabbed me.

So, now that I've buried the lead (as I tend to do in all my posts), the actual reason I brought you all together today was to share an absurdity that arose on almost every family road trip that took us outside of Texas.

You see, if you're heading north from Houston, all roads appear to lead through Dallas, TX. And Dallas, my dear readers, is truly, the most terrifying city in all the world...or at least that's what my dad taught me as a child.

Now, we never had a formal sit down on the matter, but Dad was always very insistent that the land of Dallas was not to be taken lightly. Every time we approached the city limits, we were informed that not a word was to be spoken by any child of Newhouse descent lest those words be met with terrible consequences. I could never tell if said consequences would come from Dad or the minions of Dallas, but I truly believed that the outcome would be the end of me. And so trip after trip, the Newhouse clan sat in absolute silence until Dallas was nothing more than a speck in the rear view mirror of our station wagon.

Of course, now, I realize my dad was full of crap.

At best, Dad wanted to focus all his attention on the increased traffic and aggressive drivers..but these are the half-truths parents tell themselves to help them sleep at night.

In reality, Dad was using the first major city not named Houston to acquire some freakin' peace and quiet. You don't cram four kids and two adults into a station wagon without achieving decibel levels of a 90's metal band, recording such hits as Stop Touching Me!, What's That Smell?!, and my favorite, I Know You Are But What Am I? It's no wonder he chose a Metroplex for an extended, sanity-preserving respite.

Of course, he eventually pushed his luck too far. With each passing trip, Dallas got closer and closer to Houston. I mean, we were pretty smart kids, it only took us 10-12 trips before we caught on that Dallas was not spelled The Woodlands.

It's spelled C-O-N-R-O-E...thank you very much.

Charley Says It All

One morning, after taking Coal, the allergic to the world wonder-pug, to his monthly car payment...I mean, visit to his dermatologist. Yes, he has a dermatologist...don't even get me started. But after his visit and our return home, I entered through the laundry room, and I heard Charley letting out a terrible howl from somewhere in the house. I hustled around the corner to find him standing at the front door just bellowing away, and he didn't stop until Coal trotted around the corner into the living room.

Now, Charley has never been a mouthy dog. Even after teaching him to speak, he often lets out a silent bark the first time or two. For Charley to repeatedly howl, I can only think he was really upset, and based on his silence upon Coal's return, I thought he must have missed his brother. I honestly found it rather touching.

I called Sara on the way to work to recount the tale of our dogs' bro-union, and Sara was equally flummoxed by Charley's new vocal lamentations.

Later that night, Sara came home to find Charley howling away again...even though Coal was nearby. I, at first, became worried that Charley might be showing his age--he had lost track of Coal and became upset. But then it hit me, maybe Charley missed the humans in his life, likely Sara...most definitely me. And again, I was touched by Charley's deep connection with those around him.

So when I arrived home that night, I decided to do a little experiment. Sara and I, with Coal in tow, left through the front door as if departing. I patiently waited outside for the howls to commence, and...nothing. I returned Coal to the house while Sara and I remained outside, and pretty soon, the mournful sound of...silence became deafening. Charley seemed thoroughly nonplussed by our absence.

With my tail tucked between my legs and my experiment an utter failure, I reentered the house. Upon entry, I realized that the dog pillow was still in the dryer, and I went to grab it for the dogs.

As soon as I opened the dryer door, Charley came running around the corner, slipping and sliding on the hardwood with complete disregard for his own well-being. As I slipped the pillow into it's freshly washed cover, I thought Charley was about to come out of his skin in anticipation. Never has reunion between an animal and inanimate object elicited such emotion.

And it suddenly became painfully clear...Charley missed his pillow.

Not his brother...not his humans...his pillow!

His flippin' pillow.

The Night my Wife Stabbed Me & Other Tall Tales

Some people just know how to put on a production. My Father-In-Law is one of those people. Besides being able to choreograph a killer fireworks display, my FIL is a master storyteller. Anytime the family gathers for a holiday or another food-centric occasion, Saturday morning breakfast is guaranteed to devolve into an exchanges of tales from days gone by...and no one spins the yarns quite like Sara's dad.

You see, my FIL has a unique ability to paint a picture with his words. When he recounts the misadventures of his youthful days alongside three brothers, you almost feel party to the mischief, mayhem, and destruction left in their wake. (My apologies to the city of Shreveport.) When he tells stories about the mishaps at their airplane repair shop, it becomes clear that only through divine intervention did he escape those years without serious injury. I mean, an engine once grabbed him by the moob (that's the medical term), yanked him off his feet, and dumped him on his head, and he walked away just fine...with the exception of a hard to explain bruise.

I've witnessed looks of horrific clarity and revelation come across Sara's grandmother's face as years of unknown mishaps have been brought to light over the breakfast table. How'd her boys go through socks so frequently? Because they became projectile missiles with intent to maim after lights out. Why'd that favorite meal taste a bit off one time? Because my FIL coughed Nestle's Quik into the gravy and simply stirred it in as if it was a thickening agent to cover his tracks.

While my FIL never tells outright lies, he never shies from hyperbole...should it serve the story...as you'll discover in the titular tale.

Several years ago, Sara's father was a regular tenant at Casa de Newhouse. He was working south of San Antonio, and rather than driving 8 hours to Tyler, TX every weekend, he'd cut his weekend commute in half by staying with us.

It was Friday during Lent, and Sara, being a good Catholic, had planned a meatless dinner option for what I playfully (and begrudgingly) refer to as NO MEAT FRIDAY! I arrived home just as dinner prep was hitting high gear. She was making spaghetti, one of my favorites, but I noticed something...odd...in her meal preparation--she was cutting up zucchini and squash. Knowing that spaghetti is typically a stand alone dish for us, I innocently asked, "Are you putting that in the sauce?" (Okay, so there may have been a BLEEECH tone in my voice.) To which she informed me through clenched teeth that we had already discussed this plan, and I had given my approval.

Just moments later, Sara's dad walked through the door, surveyed the dinner situation, and seeing the veggies on the cutting board, asked, "Are you putting THAT in the sauce?!"

This is how my FIL describes the scene from that moment forward (with intensifying volume):

I mean, I just asked a simple question, and next thing you know, Sara grabs the knife and begins gesticulating with it, reading us the riot act about calling us...running the recipe by us...getting our approval...but honestly, all I can concentrate on is how with each passing moment and each blade-emphasized point, the knife is getting closer and closer to Ben's chest...and the poor boy doesn't even flinch...he's so used to these brushes with death.

Covertly, I kept to trying to signal to Ben that he should run for his life and save himself, but I wasn't sure I could get away with it without tipping off Sara. And so I simply begged forgiveness...in hopes of being spared...from an act that Sara clearly would have argued as justifiable homicide.

(End Scene)

With each retelling of this incident, the danger, the rage, and the size of the knife has grown in my father's portrayal. I'm pretty sure in the next iteration, I will finally be stabbed by a sword just for walking into the kitchen, and the scars I really bear from Crohn's and gall bladder surgery will be reminders of the day I questioned Sara's culinary prowess.

Of course, Sara has a very different view of this incident. She feels justified in her frustration since she had taken the time to gain meal approval from the masses, and she swears that she simply gesticulated with the knife because she was in the middle of cutting the squash. No husbands or fathers were ever harmed (or at risk of harm) in the creation of this tale.

And that's how I remember things, as well...because I'm writing this at knife point.

You can put it down now, honey.

LeaderShape: My Week in the U.P.

It's amazing how quickly time can fly when you're posting absolutely diddly squat. Topic ideas have come and gone in multitudes with nothing to show in terms of production. If I keep up this pace, this blog will fall into oblivion in no time, which would cause my mother at least a little dismay...well, she'd be polite enough to fake it...I think.

Honestly, dear reader(s), 2012 has offered plenty of substantive content; I just haven't dedicated the time to let you in on my world. Some of those moments will have to remain in the past, but I would be remiss if I did not recount an amazing experience that began literally hours into the New Year.

Last summer, I asked my friend and classmate, John Lehman, about LeaderShape, an intensive week-long leadership program for college students. No, that is a terribly underwhelming description. At LeaderShape, students learn to embrace a healthy disregard for the impossible, challenge themselves and each other to lead with integrity, and commit to make a positive difference in the world in their own unique way. It's powerful, life-altering work, folks.

So back to John...knowing that he had served as a Lead Facilitator on a number of campuses, I wanted to know how I could get involved. John encouraged me to consider serving as a Cluster Facilitator--part of the LeaderShape faculty that works with a subset of the larger community (i.e. the Family Cluster)--for Michigan Tech's LeaderShape program. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth (Is John the horse in this expression?), I expressed my extreme interest, no questions asked...though I really should have asked at least one question.

You see, I assumed Michigan Tech would hold its LeaderShape experience in May...when it was, you know, defrosted in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. You know what they say when you assume...you end up freezing your tail off in the U.P. in January. That, my friends, is the highly abbreviated version as to how this Texas boy ended up spending New Year's Day on the way to Michigan to work with and learn from 60 amazing Michigan Tech student leaders.

LeaderShape 2012 Faculty
Michigan Tech

I was privileged to work with a fabulous Family Cluster (Shout-out to my A B-BRASS KEY peeps!), an awesome faculty (Sully, Courtney, Renee, Karyn, Katie C., Dani, & Katie V.), and two talented Lead Facilitators, Amy Climer and Chris Carey.

To say the experience was personally transformative would be an understatement.

I was there, first and foremost, for the students, but you can't experience LeaderShape without doing an immense amount of self-work. I found myself stretched in ways I could never imagine, embraced by a community of complete strangers, and reminded how much I love serving as a facilitator to groups of any size. I was impacted in incredibly wonderful ways, but two revelations stick out:

Vision Clarification
Every participant created a vision detailing how she/he intended to change the world. I came to LeaderShape with decent understanding of my personal vision, but Michigan Tech's Vice President for Student Affairs, Les Cook's closing remarks on Day 6 gave words to what I knew in my heart. My vision is to positively impact those who will positively impact the world. That, in essence, is why I do the work I do.

Mythbusting
Eight of my twelve years as a Student Affairs professional have been spent at my alma mater, Trinity University. That's 2/3 of my professional career in one place. It's no wonder Trinity has become home to me. But after spending so much time in one place, it becomes hard to imagine yourself being professionally happy anywhere else or loving any students beyond the beloved red brick walls of Trinity. It took about 3 hours for the Michigan Tech students to dispel that myth, reminding me that exceptional student leaders will find their way into my life and into my heart no matter where I land.

Before I ramble on too long (too late), I owe a special thanks to Travis Pierce for inviting me to participate in LeaderShape and getting me to Michigan despite a detour into Wisconsin because of a blizzard. In addition, many thanks to my CCI family for allowing me to head north just as offices reopened and holding down the fort in my absence, and to my wife, with whom down time is rare and precious, for supporting me in this experience even though it meant cutting our holiday short.

And to my Family Cluster, A B-BRASS KEY--Andrew, Austin, Brad, Erik, Kyle, Rachel, Sam, Sophia, and Yvonne, you each have the ability to change this world for the better. Never doubt what you are capable of, and if that inner voice ever tries to stymie your resolve, hear mine cheering you on, reminding you of what you already know: You are a gift to this world. Live that truth...and you will truly touch lives and impact this world in a powerful, positive way.
 

A B-BRASS KEY

Thanks for sharing your week with me.

Ben